Here's a little known fact about me: I love Christmas. 

There are, of course, certain traditions that leave me utterly lost.  For example, what's up with the creepy, molded plastic, lit-from-the-inside Santa Clauses?  And why can't I have candy canes any other time of the year?  

But for the most part, I can't get enough of Christmas.  The gift-giving.  The loving your fellow man.  The presents.  And especially the mistletoe.  

Being Jewish, I wasn't exposed to the wonder that is the mistletoe until I was fourteen.  Janine Cunningham enthusiastically introduced me to the tradition at her Christmas party, and I have been taking full advantage of it ever since.  I have to admit, though, I've never had quite so much fun under the mistletoe as I did this year.  Of course, the increased quality of the mistletoe experience had a corresponding increase in hellish consequences.  But I'm getting ahead of myself. 

So it's Christmas Eve, and Donna, who's one big ball of girlish emotion after endlessly listening to Perry Cuomo's Christmas album on her headphones, accompanies me to the Mural Room to listen to a boys' choir.  And while I admit to expressing my love for my fellow woman -- in a purely holiday-cheer kind of way -- with an arm slung around her, Donna's absurd susceptibility to Christmas carols (her words; I call it sappiness) played a large part in the ensuing mess. 

So we're listening to some tunes and Donna looks up at me with those big, teary eyes and does that smile she does when she's really happy, and I'm suddenly having completely inappropriate thoughts about my assistant.  That, paired with the fact that we're about to witness an incredibly annoying weatherperson dressed up in a cheap red velvet suit, precipitates our abrupt departure.

I pull Donna down the hallway, arguing pleasantly over the relative merits of Christmas and Channukah (and noting with amusement her attempt to pronounce it correctly).  Then we reach the bullpen.  And our drunken coworkers.  Singing.  Badly.

I shoot Donna a look, "I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that somebody spiked the eggnog."

In inimitable Donna fashion, she heads straight for the punchbowl and pours herself a cup.  She knocks it back with disturbing ease, then nods. "You're right."

"You know, Donna," I say.  "It's eggnog, not coffee."

"Meaning?" she prompts, with a dubious look.

"Meaning that it wouldn't be establishing any sort of precedent if you'd actually brought me a cup too.  It's not like I'm going to expect you to bring me eggnog every morning."

"It's a slippery slope, Josh," Donna shrugs.  "Eggnog on Christmas Eve, coffee on weekdays; before I know it, you're expecting me to show up at your place every morning to fix your breakfast."

"You've had worse ideas," I point out with a grin.

"Josh, get your own damn eggnog," Donna tosses over her shoulder as she walks away.

Gotta love the respect with which I'm treated by my assistant.  I wander over to get my own damn eggnog.

CJ taps my shoulder, "Josh, are you sure you should be drinking that?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Do you not remember last year?" CJ asks.

"Not this again--"

"Oh, right."  She gives herself a playful smack on the forehead.  "You don't remember.  Because you and Sam snuck away to the Reflecting Pool to go ice skating.  While extremely drunk."

"I have no recollection of that," I answer truthfully.

"And yet there was photographic evidence of it," she notes.  "Evidence of two senior staffers of the President-elect breaking several laws."

"CJ--"

"It was so picturesque, too," she continues, ignoring my protests.  "The blanket of snow on the mall, you and Sam in your mittens and mufflers, the dopey, alcohol-induced grins, and, oh, yeah, the open bottle of wine you were swigging from."

"It was empty," I argued.

"Because you drank it all and then puked at the foot of the Washington Monument," CJ countered.  "Which I also had photographic evidence of before I burned the negatives."

"Isn't that a crime?"

"What?"

"Destroying the evidence."

"That's not the point."  She refills her glass.  "One cup, Joshua."

"Yes, Mom," I call after her.

Then I notice the gaggle -- including, I note with some irritation, Donna -- surrounding the new guy from Human Resources.  I feel a surge of brotherly protectiveness and head off to the rescue.

"That is your name, isn't it?" the new guy's saying as I reached the group.  "Donna?"

"Donnatella," I say.  Not in an obnoxious way.  Just, you know, making it clear that he'd better back off or we'd have to throw down.

"Donna," my assistant repeats, with what looks like a thankful glance at me.  "My name's Donna."

The new guy -- his name is Ernie; need I say more? -- is giving me a look.  Trying to figure out if he'd be stepping on my toes if he keeps hitting on my assistant.  I'm giving him a look, too.  One that says:  Step.  Off.

"Ernie," Donna says.  "Ernie, this is my boss, Josh Lyman."

"Donna," I say.  "We have that thing."

"What thing?"

"That work thing."

"Christmas Eve, Joshua."

"Government business, Donnatella."  Trump card.

Of course, there isn't really much work to be done, but I figure I'll give her an easy out.  Donna narrows her eyes, then turns and walks away.  I shoot Ernie a warning look and follow her.

After giving Donna a much-needed lesson on guys on the make, I pause in the doorway of my office.

"Is that all?" Donna stands right in front of me, arms crossed.  "Because if there isn't any real work to do, I'm going back to where people are having actual fun."

"No, that's pretty much it.  Now that I've successfully defended your virtue, you're free to leave."  I retreat to my office and am halfway to my desk when I notice it.

A sprig of mistletoe hanging precariously from my ceiling.

Now, who could possibly have put that there?  I have my share of admirers in the office -- most of whom are drawn to my sharp wit and winning smile -- but I figure I should narrow my list to those who had motive and opportunity.  In other words, the female half (I hope) of the support staff involved in decorating the office.

Let's see... that'd be Ginger and Margaret and Bonnie and Donna--

"Should I call maintenance?"

"What?  No, it's--"  I tear my gaze from the mistletoe and glance over at Donna.  An interesting thought occurs to me.  "What do you have there?"

"Your Christmas present."  She enters the office and hands me a small box wrapped in silver paper.  At least it's not that heinous designer paper with bells and plant life and small woodland creatures.

"You bought me a Christmas present?"

"Yes, Josh.  It's traditional to exchange gifts at Christmas.  You didn't get me skis, and I got you this."

I make short work of the paper and the box, which leaves me holding a fancy-looking bag of coffee. I think I'm giving the coffee a puzzled look.

"Well?" Donna prompts.

"Coffee?" I ask.  "You gave me coffee?"

"Not just any coffee.  This is a very special gourmet blend."

"I give you a rare book, and you give me coffee?"

"It's the thought that counts, Josh."  She has her wounded face on.

"I'm almost afraid to ask what you were thinking."

"That now you can't say I never bring you coffee," she says, with one of her delicate smiles.  See why I can't function without this woman?  She's sweet, she's thoughtful, she keeps me in line.  She's sometimes completely unreasonable.  "Also," she adds, "that I could have bought you a very nice coffee press if I made more money."

I ignore the sudden, inexplicable urge to hug her.  "So the hidden meaning behind this gift is that you want a raise?"

"I wouldn't exactly call it a hidden meaning, Josh."

Fair point.  I put the coffee on the desk beside me.  "If you ever got that raise, would you actually bring me coffee?"

"Only in your dreams."

I grin at her.  My occasional dreams involving Ms. Donnatella Moss never involve anything as banal as coffee.

"Okay," I said, "we had the carolers, the visit from St. Nick cleverly disguised as a morning news show weatherman, the drunken revelers at the office Christmas party, and the gift giving."  I ease closer to her.  "What's next?"

"Well, we could watch 'It's a Wonderful Life,'" she suggested, "but I have a plane to catch in two hours."

"What about mistletoe?" I prompt.

"Mistletoe?  What are you talking about?"  She gives me a confused look, but I don't buy it for a second.

"Mistletoe," I rattle off, "a plant traditionally used as decoration during the Christmas season.  In European folklore, mistletoe was believed to bestow fertility and to be an aphrodisiac.  Which, you'll admit, is a useful combination.  The tradition of kissing under the mistletoe was originally associated with the Greek festival of Saturnalia and later with primitive marriage rites.  The Scandanavian tradition holds that mistletoe represents peace; enemies could stand under the mistletoe to declare a truce," I raised my eyebrows, "or married couples could use it to kiss and make up."

"Josh, I'm impressed," Donna says.  "Seriously."

"You don't work for Jed Bartlet this long without picking up some useless bits of trivia."  I push the sudden, disturbing image of Jed Bartlet grinning proudly at me out of my head and concentrate on Donna.  "So, Donnatella, should we move to the mistletoe portion of the evening?"

"Josh, the tradition requires catching someone underneath the mistletoe," she says, moving closer until she's directly below it.

The crafty little minx.

I smirk and point out her handiwork.  She glances up, looks shocked, and I take that opportunity to plant one on her.  A brotherly kiss, to be sure.  I have no intention of... well, of anything except expressing my appreciation for her person in a non-verbal way.  I simply give her a sweet, chaste, close-mouthed kiss.

Until her hand lands on the back of my neck and she makes this amazing little sound.  Suddenly, we're kissing.  Donna and I are kissing, and we're surprisingly good at it.  Not awkward like during most first kisses, where you're trying to find the right angle, the right amount of aggression.  This kiss just... works.

Unfortunately, we're interrupted just as it was getting interesting.  I belatedly hear the door open, and Donna jerks away from me.

I quickly remove my hand from her hair. "Jeez," I say, spotting CJ in the doorway, "doesn't anybody in this building ever knock?"

"I've said it before," CJ replies, "but I think it bears repeating: Boy, are you stupid!"

I scramble for an answer that isn't overly defensive. "That may be so, but we were being stupid in private until you barged in."  Okay.  So much for not sounding defensive.

"What the hell do you two think you're doing?" she demands.

"Nothing," I sputter, pointing up at the damn plant.  "Mistletoe.  Friendly kiss."

"Right," Donna nods beside me.

"Friendly, my ass," CJ snorts.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" I demand.

"Driving Donna to the airport," CJ answers.  "And she told me to meet her here."

"What?"  I turn on Donna.  "You told her to meet you here?  Are you insane?  Are you actually an insane person?"

"Me?"  Donna gapes at me.  "You were the kisser; I was just the kissee."

"Oh yeah?"  I want to point out that I wasn't running around hanging mistletoe over her desk, but I figure CJ's pissed enough without knowing this was premeditated.  I may have missed a small portion of the conversation, having retreated behind my desk to think.

"It was just a little kiss, CJ."  Donna points at the ceiling.  "There's mistletoe, see?  It was perfectly innocent."

"What I saw sure didn't look innocent," CJ replies.  She has her arms crossed and that pissed-as-a-wet-cat look.  I'm a tad frightened.  "It looked like full-blown tongue hockey."

"And the pot calls the kettle black," I pounce.  Hey, it's kill or be killed sometimes.

"What?"  CJ and Donna round on me.

"So I kissed Donna," I shrug, doing my best impression of carelessness.  "Under the mistletoe.  On Christmas Eve.  Big deal.  It didn't mean anything."

"What do you mean it didn't mean anything?" Donna interjects.

Here's where I experience the first inkling that I may have made a slight tactical error.  But I ignore Donna and focus on CJ.

"And, yes, we're co-workers," I continue.

"You're her boss," CJ says.

"Yes.  We work together.  It's not like there's a conflict of interest involved."  I cross my arms.  "It's not like she's a reporter and I'm, you know, the press secretary."

"This is about you and Donna, not me and Danny."

"But it could be."

"Are you trying to blackmail me, Josh?"

"No," Donna says.  "No, he's not.  No one is blackmailing anyone.  It was just an innocent kiss."  She glanced at me with this hurt look.  "And apparently it was completely meaningless."

Oh, shit.

I lift my hand, but Donna ignores me and turns back to CJ.  "And nobody knows about it except the three of us.  Disaster averted.  Now if you two will stop arguing about it, CJ can drive me to the airport."

I try again, "Donna--"

"Trust me, Josh," she says, avoiding my eyes.  "You really don't want to say anything else right now."

I watch her departure in shock.

CJ gives me an imperious look.  "No more drinking, Josh," she commands, then stalks after Donna.

***

Two and a half cups of eggnog later, I am feeling no pain.  I'm not feeling much of anything, actually.

Sam finds me sprawled on my office floor, examining the carpet with a strange fascination.  Somehow, he manages to manhandle me up into my chair.

I lean back and blink up at the mistletoe.  "That," I tell Sam in all seriousness, "is the spawn of Satan."

Sam's brow furrows.  "The mistletoe?"

"Yeah."

"Is the spawn of Satan."

"Yeah."

"I'm just saying, isn't the spawn of Satan usually, you know, a mammal?"

I regard him blearily for a moment.  "You sound like Donnatella."

Sam looks amused.  "How much have you had to drink, Josh?"

"Why does everyone keep asking that?"  I try to stand up and be righteous in my anger, but my legs have other ideas.  I fall back into my chair.  "I'm not drunk."

"Right," Sam grins.

"And I did not kiss Donna," I say.  "So just ignore what CJ said."

Sam's staring at me with an odd look.  "What CJ said?"

"Yeah," I nod for what seems like hours.  "What CJ said about seeing me kiss Donna.  I didn't.  And it was her fault anyway."

"Whose fault?"

"Donna's," I explain, exasperated by his inability to follow my flawless logic.

"CJ said you kissed Donna, but you really didn't, and it's all somehow Donna's fault?" he summarizes.

"Yeah."  My eyes slip closed and the room tilts slightly.

"Josh?"

I open one eye.

Sam leans on the desk, his face close to mine.  "Please tell me you didn't hang mistletoe in your office so you could hit on your assistant."

"Did not."

"Cause that's not exactly something Leo would condone."

"Shit," I sit upright, nearly smashing my face into Sam's.  "Did CJ tell Leo?"

"Josh."  Sam straightens, shaking his head.  "I don't think CJ's told anyone."

"She told you."

"No, she didn't."

I give him a puzzled look.  "Then how do you know?"

"You told me."

I attempt to go back over our conversation in my head, but can't quite follow it.  I flop back in my chair.  "Whatever."

My phone rings.  I fumble with it for a moment, then answer, "Josh Lyman, deputy chief of staff and despoiler of virgins."

"I'm not spoiled," says a familiar voice, "and I'm definitely not a virgin."

I grin stupidly.  "I thought you weren't speaking to me."

"I'm not," Donna answers.  "Except in my official capacity as your assistant."

Official capacity.  Right.  And if Donna's already at the airport, that means CJ's on her way back.  Which means I have a finite amount of time before CJ arrives to rip me a new one.  My alcohol haze fades slightly.  "Then in my official capacity as your boss, tell me what you got on CJ."

"What?" Donna squeaks.

"I figure it was a nice long car ride; and you're doing the whole Thelma-and-Louise, men-are-scum thing."  I'm on a roll; I should drink more often.  "She let some juicy little tidbit slip.  Something we can use against her for the next few years.  It's about Danny, isn't it?"

"Joshua Lyman."  Donna's using her peremptory tone.  "There are days when I am ashamed to admit I know you."

"Come on; what did you get?" I wheedle.  "'Cause I was thinking of getting the IRS to investigate whether her goldfish constitutes an illegal gift, but I might be on shaky ground there."

Sam rolls his eyes.

"You think?" Donna asks sarcastically.

"Donna, you must have got something."

"Yes, I got a very long lecture about why you were at fault."

"Me?" I sputter.  "If I'm going down on this, Donnatella, I'm taking you with me."

Sam chuckles and takes the receiver away from me.  He clicks on the speakerphone and says, "Under the circumstances, Josh, that last sentence was quite the unfortunate choice of words."

"Sam?" Donna asks, her voice all tinny.  "What are you doing in Josh's office?"

"I'm providing comfort in his time of tribulation.  And can I just say that I'm totally behind the idea of you two crazy kids finding love?"

"Oh god, no!" Donna says.  "Josh, please tell me you didn't tell Sam."

"Okay, I won't tell you," I reply, a little irritated by her horrified tone.  It's all her damn fault, anyway.

"Josh," Donna asks, "how much eggnog did you drink after I left?"

"Three cups."  So I rounded up.  I'm sick of being labeled a lightweight when it comes to drinking.  I'm a politician, dammit!

Without warning, the room lurches to the left.  I groan and put my head down on the desk.  Sam and Donna are having a hard-to-follow conversation about coffee and the Post, so I ignore them and think about ways to keep CJ quiet.

I may have dozed off for a moment, but Sam's whining brings me around.  I roll my head sideways and yell, "I wanna talk to Donnatella!"

"Josh, you're on speakerphone," Donna says patiently.  "I can hear you just fine."

"I think I'm drunk, Donna."  Not exactly a brilliant opening salvo.

"Yes, Josh, you are.  You have a very sensitive system."

"I was not drunk when I kissed you."  Did I just say that?  Was that me?

"Okay," Donna agrees.

"'Cause I just wanted to clarify that."  No, I didn't.  I really didn't.  Why am I still talking?  Why is Sam standing there grinning and letting me talk?

"Okay," Donna repeats.

"And you did too kiss me back," I point out.  "You were not just the kissee."

I pause to think over what I've said and realize it could give someone who didn't know better the false impression that I have a thing for Donna.  Which I don't.  I want to say something sensitive, something that will express my deep and genuine friendship with Donna, while emphasizing that any romantic feelings she may have towards me are unrequited.

"I do not love you, Donnatella Moss," is what comes out of my mouth.

And that, boys and girls, is why Joshua Lyman is not allowed to drink heavily.

"I don't love you either, Josh," Donna answers, punctuating her statement by hanging up abruptly.

"Wait," I say. "I meant--"

"Josh," Sam says with a sympathetic look.  "She hung up."

I stare up at him.  "Did I just say--?"

"Yes," he answered.

I digest that for a moment.  "Donna's gonna kill me."

"Yes," he admits.

I drop my head on the desk again, suddenly nauseated.

My office door bangs open.  "Joshua," CJ says.

Sam pats me on the back.  "I think CJ's going to kill you first."

"Leave me alone," I whimper.  "I'm drunk."

CJ slams her hand on the desk by my head.  "What did I tell you?"

I prop my chin in my hand and mumble, "You told me not to drink."

"And what did you do?"  She has her arms crossed and is looking very fierce.

"I only had two cups."

Sam grins.  "I thought it was three?"

"Traitor," I mutter.  "CJ--"

"Don't even try it, Joshua," she cuts me off.  "I reminded you of the Monument scandal."

Sam gives me a little wave, and turns toward the door.  "I believe that's my cue to leave."

"Sam," CJ raises her voice.

Sam halts midstep. "Yes?"

"Get your ass back here."

"Okay."  Sam slowly turns back to face her.  "Can I help you in some way?"

"I'm holding you responsible for this," she says.

"Me?"  Sam gapes at her.  "How am I responsible for Josh kissing Donna."

"She kissed me back," I interject stupidly.

"Shut up," Sam and CJ command in unison.

"Fine." I drop my head back into my arms.

"You're not responsible for that," CJ tells Sam.  "You're responsible for this."

"I'm not his babysitter," Sam argues.

"What did I tell you last year?"

"CJ--"

"What did I tell you, Sam?" CJ interrupts.  "Didn't I say, 'Make sure Josh doesn't do this again, Sam?'  Didn't I say, 'Who knows what trouble he'll get into next year?'"

"Yes," Sam admits.

"So?"

"So what?"

"So why am I trying to have a very important discussion with a very drunken Josh right now?"

"I got here after the three cups of eggnog."

"Two and a half," I mumble.

"Josh," CJ warns.

"I'm just saying," I say, stupidly.

"Now is really not the time for you to nitpick, Joshua," CJ says.  "Because I assure you, the press corps is not really going to care if it was two or three cups of eggnog; I'm guessing they'll be more interested in you groping your assistant in your office."

"I did not grope."  I push myself into a sitting position.  "Let me make it clear that there was no groping of any kind."

"And let me make clear that I'm going to kill you if anyone finds out about this," CJ shoots back.

The way I'm feeling, she's not going to have to kill me.  And I really shouldn't have sat up so quickly.  Sam takes a good look at me and jumps into action.

He gets the wastebasket in place just in time.

I hate Christmas.

***

The next few days are surprisingly without conflict.  Probably because I spend Christmas day in bed moaning and wishing for a quick, painless death.  But still.

I think it's safe to say the storm had all but blown over.  Sam was out of town.  CJ was still subjecting me to the occasional lecture on my misogynist tendencies and what she termed my overwhelming ego, but that wasn't actually all that unusual.

And had my assistant been around instead of off gallivanting with her family, I'm sure the sticky situation would have disappeared around the same time as my hangover.

So I slept through my alarm on the 2nd.  Which was really not my fault.  Donna is supposed to call me if she gets in to work and I'm not there yet.  But given that she's in Chicago... Let's just say I get to work a bit late.

And since he plays such an integral role in the disaster, I should point out that Sam arrived back in D.C. the night before.

Anyway, because I wasn't there on time, I missed the conversation CJ and Sam had in Sam's office.  A conversation that, regrettably, widened to include Toby when he walked in looking for a draft of a speech.  Neither CJ nor Sam realized that Toby hadn't even been at the White House on Christmas Eve to witness the...  Well, he didn't know about the thing in my office.

Until they told him.

That's the part I'm not sad about missing; apparently Toby made many, many disparaging remarks about my "womanizing," and my "sleazy persona that is inexplicably charming to women."  All the while praising Donna's virtue for resisting my evil clutches for so long.

Like I said, I'm quite glad I didn't have to sit through yet another scolding from Toby.

But, oh, how I wish I'd gotten to work before the three stooges headed for the staff meeting.  These are three of the most brilliant people in the country.  They're supposedly concerned about a possible P.R. nightmare, yet they discuss the situation while walking through the halls of the West Wing.  How bright is that?

As a result, I arrive at the staff meeting with no clue that Leo overheard CJ, Sam, and Toby discussing me and Donna.  The meeting, needless to say, does not go well.

"Nice of you to join us, Josh," Leo snipes as soon as he sees me.

"Sorry," I say, fussing with my damp and quite unruly hair.  "I had a thing."

CJ and Toby nod their hellos, while Sam purses his lips and tilts his head towards Leo.  I get the feeling he's trying to tell me something, but my synapses aren't firing correctly.

"You had a thing?" Leo asks in the tone he gets just before he goes in for the kill.

"Yeah," I say.

"Who was it this time, Josh?" Leo crosses his arms and glares at me.

I'm beginning to get the picture.  "Leo--"

"No, really," he interrupts.  "I'm curious, Josh.  Are you going to work your way through your entire support staff, or have you started in on someone else's?"

I'm starting to get pissed.  "Leo, don't you think that's a little out of line?"

CJ, Toby, and Sam edge away from me.

Leo takes a step forward.  "Excuse me?"

"I just meant--"

"You and your assistant are playing tonsil hockey in your office in the White House and I'm out of line?"

CJ steps in.  "This is serious, Josh."

"I'm aware of that, CJ," I snap back.

"Then act like it," Leo commands.  "I don't know what I'm supposed to do with you, Josh."

"Nothing.  You don't have to do anything.  There was mistletoe, Leo," I say with what may have been a slightly inappropriate grin.  "It was just a friendly, Christmas kiss."

"You're Jewish," Leo points out flatly.

"Donna's Presbyterian," Sam offers.

Leo glares at him for a moment.  "Thank you, Sam."

"No problem," Sam retreats behind a nearby chair.

"Leo," I say. "I don't see what the big deal is."

"Josh," Toby says.  "This is serious.  What if the press stumbled upon that... that prurient scene?"

"Prurient?" I repeat.  "It was just a simple kiss."

Leo glares at me.  "It was completely inappropriate, Josh.  And I've got to tell you, I'm not looking forward the conversation I'm going to have with Donna."

"Wait a second," I say, shaking my head.  "What are you talking about?"

"You can't think this will go unpunished," Leo answers.

"Unpunished?  You're going to punish us?" I sputter.  "For a holiday kiss behind closed doors?"

"This is serious, Joshua," CJ repeats.

"What about Danny and CJ?"  My attempted misdirection earns me a frightening scowl from CJ.

"What about me and Danny?" CJ steps right into the box and swings for it.

"I couldn't care less about CJ and Danny," Leo says. CJ looks shocked

"Why don't you care about CJ and Danny?" I ask.

"Danny doesn't work for me," Leo answers. "I can't fire him."

"You can't fire Donna, either," I say.

"Oh, but I can."

I'm standing here staring at Leo, but I can't seem to come up with anything to say to that.  CJ, Sam, and Toby seem similarly struck dumb.

Leo sighs.  "Look, I don't want to fire Donna--"

"You can't fire Donna," I repeat.  "Leo, you can't."

"What am I supposed to do, Josh?" Leo throws up his hands.  "This is serious."

"Could we please pick a new phrase?" I ask.

"Would you prefer that I fire you?" Leo bellows.  "Because I'm really not in the mood for your 'wit,' Josh."

"Leo," Sam says.  "No one needs to be fired--"

"Sam," Leo rounds on him.

Sam shuts up.

Leo turns back to me.  "I'm not sure what kind of options we have here, Josh."

"You can't fire Donna."  I seem to be stuck on that phrase.

Leo stares at me for a moment.  "When does she get back?"

"Tomorrow night."

"Be in my office at 8a.m.  Tuesday morning.  Both of you."

"Leo--"

"Enough, Josh." Leo turns to Sam.  "What else?"

***

It's amazing what kissing someone can do to your awareness level.

I duck out early on Monday -- after hiding out in my office for the better part of two days -- and head for the airport.  I hate the airport.  I find the whole dropping-people-off and picking-people-up thing to be torturous and unnecessary.  You get a car, they drop you off and pick you up curbside; no parking (for $5 per hour), no slogging through crowds of post-holiday bad cheer.  No fuss.

But for reasons I don't care to examine too closely, I feel some strange obligation to collect Donna and see her home.  These occasional surges of protectiveness are a pain in the ass.  (You'll notice that I have, as a result of the events of Christmas Eve, lopped off the descriptive "brotherly," as that would be... well, just wrong.)

I arrive at the airport early, for once, and try to look casual.  How this can be accomplished while awaiting the post-kiss arrival of my assistant, I'm not sure.  But I settle on the Starbucks kiosk and spend an inordinate amount of time debating the pros and cons of a double espresso.

Good thing I chose to forego the caffeine rush, because the sight of Donna walking towards me sets my nerves jangling.  She looks appropriately wrinkled after her flight, but she's still luminous.  I swallow hard and call out, "Donnatella Moss."

Donna starts and looks my way.  She gives me the once-over.  "Josh, what are you doing?"

I grin at her and grab her overnight bag.  "Picking you up at the airport."

After dissuading her of the notion that I'm there to kidnap her and take her to the office, I try to avoid the real reason, but Donna starts to get the picture.  She gives me her worried face.

"Promise you won't get upset?" I demand stupidly.

"Josh, I've gone way past upset already."

And the thing was, she has.  She has that little furrow between her eyes, and the corners of her mouth are tilted down.  I hate when she's upset.

"Well," I say, trying to figure out how to break it to her gently.  "Sam was telling Toby about -- about the thing that happened Christmas Eve.  And you know how preoccupied they get.  So I guess they weren't paying attention to where they were going or who was behind them and, well..."  I shrugged.  "Leo sort of overheard."

She stops walking abruptly and clutches my arm.  "Leo knows?" she asks, her voice oddly high and shrill.

"Yeah."

"Leo McGarry?"

"Do you know another Leo?"

"Leo McGarry our boss?"

"Well, technically Leo's my boss," I smile, amused in spite of myself.  "You've got to get clear on this whole chain of command thing, Donna."

"Leo knows."

"We've established that.  It's time to move on and develop a strategy."

"Josh, there is no strategy."  She's using that 'don't mess with me' tone.  "You kissed me--"

Why did she keep saying that?  "You kissed me back," I point out petulantly.

"That is so not the issue.  You kissed me.  Leo knows.  We're screwed."

I grin down at her.  "Now that's what Sam would call an unfortunate choice of words."

"This is serious, Joshua."  Donna's definitely not seeing the amusement.

"Yeah, that's what Leo said," I answer, attempting to be more serious.  "And Toby.  CJ said it twice."

"Which is when you mentioned Danny."

"Yeah.  I think she's kind of pissed."

"Josh," Donna says, "just tell me about the message on my answering machine."

"Oh, that's from Leo.  He wants the two of us in his office at 8 a.m. tomorrow."

Donna aggressively pushes her way through the doors and sucks in a breath at the cold air.  "I can't believe this."

"Can't believe what?" I ask, pulling my jacket a bit tighter around me.

"This," she says, waving her hand around in the space between us.  "It's insane."

I pause for a moment, a little shocked by the niggling disappointment her words generate.  "You're right."  I gesture to my car.  "I'm over there."

***

After I drop Donna at her place, I don't really want to go home.  I conveniently remember the VAWA2 bill sitting on my desk and head for the office.

Two hours later, I'm ready for bed, if not death.  But the thought of heading out into the bitter cold and driving all the way to my apartment is just too much.  Instead, I slip next door and bunk on CJ's couch.

Which is where she finds me the next morning.

"Joshua."

I roll my head sideways, but the abused muscles in my neck protest sharply.  I moan.

"Joshua, get up."

"CJ," I mumble.  "What time is it?"

"Six fifty-eight."

"A.m.?"

"Yes."  CJ pokes me.  "Get up."

I carefully lever myself upright and squint in the bright light.  "Is today Tuesday?"

CJ shakes her head.  "Yes, Josh.  And you'd better convince Leo to keep Donna here."

That wakes me up.  "He's still thinking of firing her?" I roll my shoulders a bit to work out the kinks.

"Yes, you misogynistic jerk."

"CJ--"

"Seriously, Josh, what did you think would happen?"

"I didn't--"

"Exactly," CJ interrupts.  "You didn't think.  The thing with Mandy was bad enough, but she wasn't your subordinate.  I knew it would only be a matter of time until you compromised one of your staffers; I just didn't think it'd be Donna."

"I wasn't compromising anyone, CJ, and I think you're making too big a deal out of this."

"Oh, right."  She glares down at me.  "I must be overreacting.  Maybe it's my time of the month."

"When, exactly, did this turn into the battle of the sexes?" I demand, pushing myself up onto my feet.

"In case you hadn't noticed, Joshua, it's been a battle of the sexes since that punk Adam blamed everything on Eve."

"I thought you were Catholic, CJ."

"Yeah," she says with a small smile.  "But I've always been partial to Lilith."

Finally, a truce.  I hate fighting with CJ.

"Joshua," she warns.  "You're a man.  This will work out fine for you Donna is a woman and your subordinate.  She's going to get lambasted in the press."

"For the forty-eighth time, the press doesn't know about this.  The press isn't going to know about this," I yell.  "No one will be lambasted in the press."

"The support staff knows, Josh," CJ tells me.  "How long do you think it'll take for the press to catch a tip?"

I stare at her.  "The support staff?"

"Yes."

"They know?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"I don't know, Josh.  Just trust me on this."

I sink back down onto her couch.  "Shit."

"Yes."

CJ lets me sit in her office for a few minutes, then kicks me out so she can get to work.  I head for the coffee pot for some artificial pep.

"Josh," Sam calls.

I pour myself a cup.  "You want some?"

He shakes his head and keeps right on smiling at me.

"What's with you?" I growl.  I think my grouchiness is understandable under the circumstances.

"It's a beautiful day, wouldn't you say?"

"Sam--"

"The way the sun is sparkling off the snow, the unnerving lack of traffic on the Beltway, and all the little birds chirping--"

"There are no birds, Sam."

"There could be birds."

"It's 47 degrees outside," I point out grumpily.  "The birds are in Florida."

"But still," he says.  "It's a beautiful day."

I glare at him for a moment and head for my office.

"Seriously, Josh," he says, following me.  "I am filled with glee."

"Why are you filled with glee?"  I flop into my chair.

"It's a beautiful day."

I glare at him.  He grins back, gives a little wave, and turns to leave.  He stuffs his hands in his pockets and starts whistling "Hello, Young Lovers."

"Sam," I bellow.

He turns back and gives me an innocent look. "Yes?"

"You're not at all amusing."

"Sure," he nods. And begins whistling again.

I drop my head onto my desk and contemplate suicide.  Problem is, I really dislike guns, blood makes me lightheaded, I'm not particularly fond of heights, and I'd probably be too altered after swallowing one valium to get the rest in my mouth.

"Joshua," says a familiar gruff voice.

Of course, a quick stab to the correct artery and I could... Oh, the room is spinning.  I jerk upright and open my eyes wide.  "Toby, please, not you, too."

"What?"  He frowns at me.

"Don't give me a lecture, or call me sexist, or whistle stupid songs at me."

He regards me in silence for a long moment.  "Commerce bill," he said.  "I'm looking for the briefing memo."

It takes me a moment to switch gears.  I dig through a pile of crap on my desk and produce the memo.  "Here."

"So here's an interesting idea," he begins.

"Oh, come on, Toby."  I prop my chin in my hand.

"No one around here wants to lose Donna."

"Toby."

"But I haven't seen anyone crying over the idea of your being fired."

"Toby--"

"With her..." he pauses, "charisma, I think Donna would make an excellent Deputy Chief of Staff."

"That's ridiculous, Toby.  Donna would never stay here without me."

"You should really take a look at what you're paying her, Josh."

"Toby."

"Just a helpful suggestion," he says, backing out of my office.

I check my watch and tap my fingers on my desktop impatiently.  Where the hell is Donna?

"You're wearing that to the meeting with Leo?"

I look up to find Donnatella Moss, sleek blonde hair pulled back demurely and dressed to kill in a fitted black suit and heels with those little strappy things on them.  With a glance down at my crumpled suit, I can see her point.  Of course, the upshot of my disheveled appearance is that no one would ever believe a woman of her caliber would look twice at me.

She gives me some more shit about my appearance, and I fill her in on the morning's events.  Specifically, that CJ, Toby, and Sam are getting varying amounts of enjoyment from our predicament.

Donna tries to joke with me, but she looks scared.  Paler than usual, which I honestly hadn't thought possible before this morning.  I walk over to her, and it doesn't occur to me until I'm standing in front of her that our current position is eerily familiar.  Luckily, the mistletoe is long gone.

Donna looks up at me.  "Josh, how much trouble are we really in?"

I can't resist; I touch her cheek for a brief moment and smile down at her.  "I'm not worried," I say.  "I figure nobody here is going to be stupid enough to let you go, and they know you won't stay without me."

"They do?  Who told them that?"

"I may have suggested something along those lines yesterday."

"So what you're saying is that your fate is in my hands?"  She gives me the beginnings of a smile.

"I wouldn't go that far," I say, relieved she seemed to be calming down; she keeps arguing with me, which is always a good sign.  I usher her out of my office.  "You're a hard woman to live with, Donna Moss."

Of course, the closer we get to Leo's office, the more nervous I become.  Donna may have calmed down, but I'm still worried about Leo's decision.

The staffers stopping mid-sentence to stare at us as we pass does nothing to quell my nerves.  "Why do I get the feeling I'm about to face a firing squad here?"

Before Donna can answer, Margaret jumps up and gives her a bear hug.  Margaret pulls back and seems about ready to cry.  "I blame myself."

"Now there's a strategy," I say.  "Let's blame Margaret.  Why are we blaming Margaret?"

"The mistletoe in Josh's office," Margaret says.  "I was spreading holiday cheer."

I gape at her for a moment.  Margaret put up the mistletoe?  Margaret?  Donna didn't put up the mistletoe in my office, the implications of which are staggering.

I realize that both Donna and Margaret are staring at me, waiting for a response.  "You couldn't have put up a wreath?" I ask weakly.

Donna punches me softly in the arm and reassures Margaret that the blame rests solely on me.  "Because, you know, Josh has never needed any help being a jerk."

"Excuse me?" I say.  "Can we just review events here?  I think I've mentioned before that I was not acting alone."

"Josh," Donna says, looking stricken.  "Shut up."

I shut up.

And fidget.  I am not a patient man.  Had I lived in the days of horses and carriages, I'd have hurled myself underneath a train to put an end to all of the waiting around.  It's inefficient.

It's also a spectacular tactic to use against an opponent.  I've used it many times myself, and so has Leo.  He's just never used it on me before.  It's surprisingly effective.

Once he finally deigns to admit us to his hallowed chambers, he makes us stand in silence before him.  Which is also surprisingly effective.  And his glare is terrifying.

In fact, had he not spoken when he did, I might actually have exploded.

Finally, Leo cracks.  "Just what the hell is going on with you two?"

"Nothing," I answer too quickly.  "There is nothing going on between us."

"Are you sure?"  Leo looks utterly unconvinced.  "Because that's not the story I heard from Sam."

Damn Sam and his big, gleeful mouth.

"Sam just misunderstood something I said."

Leo raises an imperious eyebrow.  "That's not the story I heard from Toby."

"Toby wasn't even there."  I wave off his comment and look to Donna for help.  She remains mute beside me.

"You do understand that this is the White House, don't you?" Leo asks.  "We are supposed to be held to a higher standard of conduct here.  You can't be consorting with every pretty girl who works for you, no matter what the circumstances.  If the two of you can't work together professionally, you're not going to be working together at all."

"You know," I say with irritation, "I'm not completely sure that's fair.  I mean, we're two consenting adults.  Suppose we wanted to-- to--"  I make a strange gesture with my hand.  "Well, just suppose.  What gives the federal government the right to tell us we can't?"

"This is about political perceptions, Josh," Leo answers.  "You of all people should understand that."

"Yeah, well, I don't," I say.  "'Cause if you want to talk about perceptions, what's it going to look like when you fire Donna because we're having an affair?"

Leo eyes widen and he yells, "You're having an affair with Donna?"

"Hypothetically, Leo," I clarify.  "Hypothetically."  I'm suddenly wondering how far I can push him before he fires one or both of us.  Unfairness in all its forms makes me crazy.  When I have a personal stake in the outcome, it drives me right around the bend.

"Because I thought this was about you kissing her.  If I'd known things had gone that far--"

"Hypothetically," I repeat.  Donna's still silent beside me. I begin to worry about her; why wasn't she speaking up for herself?

"I'm not sleeping with Josh," Donna says, a bit too emphatically, if you ask me.  "I have never slept with Josh.  I don't want to sleep with Josh.  I never will sleep with Josh."

I am momentarily taken aback by her bluntness.  I expect nothing less from her under normal circumstances, but when her honesty is aimed at me, it's slightly disconcerting.

Leo jumps right in.  "So there's nothing going on here, Donna?" he asks.  "Josh isn't taking advantage of you?"

"Well, sure, but that's what he does."

"That was certainly helpful," I say, sounding bitter even to myself.

"I don't mean sexually."  Donna ignores me, using her earnest face on Leo.  "There's nothing going on sexually.  I don't even like him half the time."

First the Margaret thing, and now Donna telling my boss what an ass I am.  This meeting is not good for my ego.

"You're sure about this?" Leo asks.  "Because I gotta tell you, I've wondered about you two myself."

I can feel my face scrunch up in shock.  "You have?"

"Yeah, sometimes you two act like you're already married."

"We do?" Donna asks.  She looks about as dumbfounded as I feel.

"Sometimes," Leo says.  "And if that's where things are headed, you can't work together.  Not in this administration.  We could always find another job for Donna, but not as your assistant."

"That is not fair," I say, about to list several relevant facts to back up my claim.  But I make the mistake of pausing for breath.

Donna jumps in.  "It's also not an issue."

I choose to ignore her statement.  "Donna is the only assistant I've ever had who can keep me on track.  I'd fall apart without her.  I couldn't function.  I--"

Leo narrows his eyes.  "I'm getting very mixed signals here."

"No," Donna says.  "No mixed signals.  Josh is just being Josh; you know how hostile he gets.  There's nothing going on."

"You're sure?" Leo looks at me.  "'Cause I keep hearing subtext."

"There's no subtext," I say quietly.  "Leo, you can't split us up."

Leo stares at me for a moment, then nods. "All right," he says.  "For now.  But consider yourselves on probation."

After a disjointed conversation with Margaret about CJ's magic work with the staff rumor mill, we're dismissed.  We flee Leo's office before he can change his mind.

"Probation," I scowl.  "I feel like I'm in junior high."

"It's not a big deal," Donna argues.  She appears to believe it, too, which does little to improve my mood.

"I think it could be unconstitutional," I say.  "Get me everything you've got on--"

"Josh, forget it," Donna interrupts me.  "It's not like we're--"

"I know, but if we were--"

"But we're not," she say again.

"I know, Donna," I say, ignoring my sudden shortness of breath.  "But if we were, it would be unfair."

"But we aren't."  She gives me a determined look.  "And we won't."

I know what that look means.  It means Donnatella Moss has decided on a course of action, and come hell or high water, she'll stick to it.

I let the subject drop.  But that night, after Donna leaves for the evening, I start to do a little bit of research on the White House code of conduct.  There are some interesting facts in there. Facts I tuck away for later.

You know, just in case.

THE END

09.27.00